


give it another go

by mixtapestar



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Getting Together, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation, Season/Series 01, Time Travel, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Three months after his arrival at Brakebills, Quentin time travels back to the day of his first arrival.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 39
Kudos: 143
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	give it another go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akisazame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akisazame/gifts).



> Happy Queliot Days, Sylph! I was inspired by your love of time loops - hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks Rubi for beta reading. <3

"Holy shit. I think it worked," Quentin says to the empty alleyway before him. The loose page of the _Fillory and Further, Book 6_ manuscript floats ever on ahead of him. He stumbles after it, heart racing, barely even trying to reach for it when he knows he can just follow it to his destination.

He makes his way through the bushes to the bright day on the other side, at Brakebills campus. From across the Sea, he can see Eliot sitting on the Brakebills sign, not lounging as he had been, vivid in Quentin's memory, but sitting up, back ramrod straight. Their eyes find each other across the lawn, and before Quentin realizes he's made the decision, he's running for Eliot, and Eliot's running for him. They collide in the middle, arms wrapped around each other in a crushing embrace, Eliot's breath warm against his ear as he whispers, "You fucking did it."

Amazing, the difference three months can make. Quentin feels the buzz of endless possibilities under his skin, especially as Eliot's hands slide over the expanse of his back. The stolen pocket watch feels heavy against his leg; he itches to pull it out, to make sure this is real.

"C'mon, you still have an entrance exam you have to pass," Eliot says, finally backing out of their embrace.

"Oh shit," Quentin says. He didn't even think of that. He tries not to panic as Eliot drags him along. "God, what if my passing was like, a fluke?"

"It wasn't a fluke, Q. You didn't even get expelled when you clearly deserved it." Eliot shoots an apologetic glance back at him. "Not that any of us wanted that, I'm just saying." They arrive outside the exam room, and Eliot pulls Quentin back into his arms. "You've got this," Eliot whispers, his lips brushing against Quentin's ear and making him shiver.

The exam is as dizzying as he remembers, and even his few months of education aren't enough to make him feel like he has an edge. But then he finds himself back in the chamber with so many professors' eyes on him, and the burst of magic explodes from him just like it had, only this time the cards don't make a castle, they form into a hyper-realistic likeness of the Physical Kids' Cottage.

He's changing a lot, he knows, as he keeps the meds in his pocket even as Fogg heavily implies he should give them up. For all he knows, the watch won't let him go back so far again, and he's not about to risk a repeat of his first month at Brakebills, a fog of depression and overwhelming imposter syndrome that would have happened even if it hadn't been backed by the utter horror of summoning the Beast.

Eliot shows up at his room, right on time, with a Margo who looks no different at first glance, but her eyes sparkle that little bit brighter. She introduces herself with that same bubbly excitement, calling him a Timelord, and Quentin doesn't have to look at Eliot to know that he's told her everything. Instead of taking Quentin on a tour of Brakebills campus, Eliot leads them straight back to the Cottage, stopping long enough to make them a round of cocktails before heading up to his room in the attic.

Quentin has never been up here, though he's certainly thought about it. He'd been thrilled to find out his lack of discipline still meant he could stay in the Physical Kids' Cottage— _god_ , that had been like, barely 48 hours ago. Eliot's room is as effortlessly cool as he is, with an elaborate closet and an assortment of magical-looking instruments on the shelves.

Margo drops down on the bed next to Eliot, so Quentin pulls up the desk chair and settles in to talk strategy, pulling out the books he'd managed to find so far on summoning rituals. They've presumably done the hard part, going back in time, but they have to figure out what to do next.

"The point here is to not make the same mistakes, right?" Eliot says. "So just, don't summon the Beast."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "It's not that simple. Alice is extremely set on this. If I don't go, she's bound to try it with someone else. We have to do something to stop her."

"You could try the truth," Margo suggests, judgment radiating from her arched brow.

"I could, but I honestly don't know if that's gonna be enough."

"You said the spell needed four people, right? Why can't Margo and I be the other two?"

Quentin balks at that, his mind immediately conjuring a picture of the Beast going for Eliot like it had Professor Van der Weghe. "No, I don't want you two putting yourself in harm's way for this."

"Aww," Margo says. "I must have charmed the pants off you in your timeline."

"Mm, not exactly, Bambi," Eliot says, meeting Quentin's eyes with an amused look. "I think I'm the favorite, you're just part of the package deal."

Margo pouts while Quentin laughs. "We were still getting to know each other in the previous timeline, but Eliot trusts you, and I trust Eliot. I hope we can be friends."

"Well, I already like you, so that's a point in your favor."

"Anyway, if you don't have any better ideas, I think using us is your best bet."

Quentin huffs, setting his drink aside and standing up. "Either way, we've got a couple days, so. Let's think on it. I'll let you guys know if I come up with anything else."

"Got somewhere to be?" Eliot asks as he stretches out on his stomach, eyeing the books that Quentin stuffs into his messenger bag.

"I thought—" His eyes dart between Eliot and Margo. "I mean, I didn't want to overstay my welcome."

"Eliot's room is a sacred space, it's true." Margo explains. "But once you've been invited over the threshold, you're set. He only writes his access list in ink, isn't that right?"

Eliot, for his part, looks a little flushed, but that might be wishful thinking on Quentin's part. "Correct as ever, Bambi. You don't have to run off, Q. Stay. You haven't even finished your drink."

"But I have," Margo says, fingers slipping around her empty glass as she stands. "I'll leave you two to get reacquainted. Three months, huh? You can tell me more about it later. In the meantime, I'll try not to step on a butterfly."

"It's moths you've gotta watch out for," Quentin says, shuddering, as she presses a kiss to Eliot's temple.

Margo closes the door behind her, and when Quentin turns back, Eliot is patting the bed next to him. "C'mon, relax for a minute. You went back in time today, and then took a ridiculous magic exam. You deserve a break."

Quentin sighs and stretches out on the bed, resting his head on a pillow and heaving a big sigh.

"Can I ask…? Why me?" Eliot asks, flipping around to lie next to him. "You could've brought Alice back with you, avoided this whole espionage mess."

Quentin cringes at the mere thought of showing Alice the time-loop watch he'd lifted from Eliza. At the moment he decided to give the watch a try, she still hadn't managed to reach her brother, and she seemed to be getting more desperate by the hour. He has no doubt what her reaction would be to a time-travelling relic. Eliot, on the other hand, had asked him questions, but never pushed when Quentin told him about it. They'd both revisited the hour during which he'd said all those horrible things to Julia, and though Quentin still argued with her in the middle of the sidewalk in the city, he had been able to calm down enough to promise to advocate for her. By that night, he felt confident enough to go to Eliot again, suggesting that they start over from the beginning, before the Beast ever broke through.

"I trust you," Quentin finally says, shaking away his introspective thoughts. "Once I knew I could take somebody with me, you seemed like the obvious choice." Not to mention that he had no idea how he'd caught Eliot's attention the first time, and he was terrified not to do it right the second time around. "I mean, not that it's the same, but. Why did you choose me, to go after that book's mate?"

Eliot leans over him, reaching for Quentin's glass on the side table and pressing the neglected drink into his hands. "I like you," Eliot says simply, his chest still pressed up against Quentin's arm before he pulls away. "You make things more fun."

Quentin laughs mirthlessly as he takes a big gulp of his drink. He has no idea what's in it, just that it's vaguely sweet and has a pleasant aftertaste. "Causing a scene in the middle of a city street is fun?"

"More fun than going it alone," Eliot says, and Quentin's brought back to the moment Eliot had looked straight into his eyes and said, "I'm trying to tell you, you are not alone here." He suddenly realizes just how close they're sitting, _on Eliot's bed_ , and he takes another hefty sip of his drink. Eliot grins. "Y'know, there aren't many people I'd be willing to throw myself back three months in time for."

"Thank god it worked," Quentin says with a nervous laugh.

"What I'm trying to say is... thank you. For bringing me along for the ride, for trusting me."

Quentin stares at him, at the genuine, earnest look on his face, and feels a surge of adrenaline. Ultimately, the fact that he could attempt to rewind this past hour if it goes horribly wrong is what gives him the courage for what he does next. "You know what I really wanted, my first week or so at Brakebills, once I realized I got to stay?" Eliot tilts his head, curious, as Quentin swallows around the lump in his throat. "To get laid."

"Is that so?" Eliot asks, arching an eyebrow. "Did you have your mind on anyone in particular? I'm guessing Alice is a no-go with the whole brother obsession thing."

"Not Alice," Quentin says firmly. "Someone else."

"Oh? Well, give me her name, I'll see what I can do. I can be pretty good at pulling the strings around here."

Quentin shakes his head. "You already know his name."

Eliot's eyes shoot to his, questioning, almost suspicious, but interested. Quentin has to fight the instinct to look away. Primly, Eliot takes his glass away, setting it aside as he stretches his long legs out, eyes glued to Quentin's as he moves up and over to straddle him. Quentin gasps as he settles his weight down, ass pressing against Quentin's already-stirring cock. Eliot's grin is sly as he leans in to whisper, "Now would be a good time to clarify if you were actually referring to your psychic roommate."

Quentin groans, grabbing at Eliot's vest. "Please shut up and kiss me."

Eliot is so close his laugh ghosts over Quentin's lips in the seconds before they touch. The kiss is light, _too_ light, and Quentin grabs at Eliot's shoulders to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. Eliot hums happily and nips at Quentin's bottom lip before sliding his tongue into Quentin's mouth, drawing out a moan.

"Fuck, Q," Eliot says after a few minutes, looking flushed and breathing heavily. "Are you sure about this? I mean, this isn't something to just—try once and then rewind over, right?"

"No! _God_ no. I want this. I want _you_ ," Quentin says, pushing his hips up so Eliot can feel how hard he is.

"Good," Eliot says, reaching down and rubbing over his own clothed cock. "What do you want, specifically?"

"Right now I want you to take off your pants," Quentin says, mouth watering a little as he thinks about the rumors and how much he wants them to be true. Eliot smiles and goes for the top button of his vest, which is entirely the wrong article of clothing. "You can leave that on." Eliot's fingers still, and his eyebrows shoot up as Quentin blushes, realizing he said that out loud. "Um, I like your vests, is all."

"Fair enough," Eliot says, standing up gracefully. "Only stripping below the waist, then." Quentin stares at him, rapt, as he unzips and pushes his trousers down his thighs. His boxer-briefs are clingy, definitely giving Quentin the idea of his cock underneath, but not _enough_. Eliot pauses, though, looking back at him expectantly. "Am I the only one getting undressed in this scenario?"

"Oh! Um," Quentin says, laughing. "Sorry, I uh. You distracted me."

"No need to apologize," Eliot says, returning to the bed. "Here, let me help."

Quentin's throat goes dry as Eliot's long fingers slip the button free on his jeans, unzipping him slowly and then reaching inside to wrap his fingers around Quentin's cock through his boxers. Quentin holds himself very still, waiting to see what Eliot will do next, but he just urges Quentin's hips up and pulls his jeans off, tossing them to the floor.

"These too?" Eliot asks, running a finger under the band of his boxers.

"You first," Quentin says, then clears his throat to shake off the rasp in his voice.

Eliot smirks and obliges him. _God_ , his cock is so beautiful, flushed pink and already half-hard even though they've just begun. Even the rumors didn't do him justice.

Suddenly eager to get things moving, Quentin shoves his own underwear off, throwing them aside and beckoning Eliot back on top of him. He sits up at an awkward angle as Eliot straddles his thighs, but he doesn't even mind the slight burn in his back as he gets his hand on Eliot's dick, holding it up against his own and pumping as Eliot drops his head back and moans.

"Oh fuck, El. You don't know how much I've thought about this," Quentin says, flicking his wrist out to slick up his hand with magic and taking their cocks in hand again.

Eliot looks back at him, so much heat in his gaze that it sends a spark of warmth throughout Quentin's body. "I know how much _I've_ thought about it. I just had no idea my fantasies were reciprocated."

"They were. Are. _Fuck_ ," he shouts, his muscles finally protesting enough that he has to fall back flat against the bed. "Here, switch with me. I wanna be on top."

Eliot raises his eyebrows. "That's fantasy #7," he says as he clambers off of Quentin.

Quentin laughs as Eliot props himself up against the headboard, looking much more comfortable than Quentin had. "More like #15 for me. We can talk about that later." He groans as he grips their cocks together again, and a few seconds later, Eliot's slicked hand has joined his.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, you know," Eliot says, a little breathless as they stroke in unison. "Maybe we can start with #1."

Quentin whines, bucking up into their combined grip. "There are like, at least five things tied for first. I don't think I'm gonna last long enough for most of them, though."

Eliot slows the motion of their hands, making Quentin groan at the loss of friction. "Hit me with some ideas. There are no wrong answers here."

"Your fingers inside me," he says, staring at Eliot's hand wrapped fully around both of their cocks. " _Fuck_. Um, you coming in my mouth."

Eliot surges forward suddenly, dislodging Quentin slightly before grabbing onto him to stabilize him and kissing him hungrily. "Jesus, Q. How much have you been holding inside that beautiful head of yours?" He grabs behind himself blindly for a pillow. "Lie back. We're doing the first one first."

Quentin's in such a daze that he can't remember what the first one was, but he obeys anyway, and then Eliot lifts his hips to slide the pillow underneath. Oh right, _fuck_. Eliot's fingers.

"I'm gonna do the spells for cleaning and protection, okay? It's gonna feel a little weird."

Quentin nods, not trusting his voice. Sure enough, a weird chill spreads through him from the inside as the magic works through him, but it fades after a moment. Quentin gasps as a slick finger teases against his entrance. He rocks his hips a little, muttering a plea, and then Eliot slides a finger inside. "Yeah," he says softly, letting himself clench and release over the intrusion. His time-rewound body _hadn't_ spent the last two nights in his new private room fingering himself and thinking of exactly this, and Quentin can feel the difference. But truthfully, it's better that way. He has a feeling Eliot doesn't mind how desperate he is for it.

"Oh god, you feel so good, Q. You want me to suck you?"

"Not yet," Quentin says, squirming. He's pretty sure he'll come in an instant once Eliot gets his mouth on him. "Work me up to two first."

"Fuck," Eliot says, resting his free hand on Quentin's hip and sliding his finger out and back in rhythmically. Quentin reaches down to lay his hand there, over Eliot's, breathing heavily and focusing on relaxing.

"Now," Quentin says, once he feels ready. "Give me more."

Eliot releases a shuddering breath and shifts his hand on Quentin's hip to lace their fingers together. In the next moment, he can feel the stretch of two fingers, inching slowly inside him.

"Oh yeah," Quentin says, biting his lip. " _Fuck_ , I love your hands."

" _God_ , Q, you're so fucking sexy," Eliot says, squeezing his hand. It suddenly feels so intimate, holding Eliot's hand while the other works its way inside him, and Quentin's heart leaps to his throat. There's no reason to think this is anything more than physical; he's got to put any other thoughts out of his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut, pushing the feelings down, trying to focus on feeling good. "Hey, relax, I've got you," Eliot says warmly.

"Sorry," Quentin breathes, frustrated with himself. "Just got caught up in my head for a second."

"D'you want me to stop?" Eliot asks, concerned.

" _No_ ," Quentin insists, strongly enough that Eliot laughs. Quentin smiles to hear it, feeling more at ease. "Keep going. Feels good." Quentin moans as Eliot's fingers find his prostate, making him jump at the jolt of pleasure. "Oh fuck, El, _please_ ," he says, his cock leaking onto his hip.

Eliot squeezes his hand again before letting it go, running his fingers over Quentin's cock instead. "Ready for my mouth now?"

"Uh huh," Quentin manages, not sure if he's actually ready, but wanting so much. The first touch of Eliot's tongue to his shaft has him whimpering. He runs his tongue along Quentin's length, taking his time licking at the wetness at his tip. His fingers continue their rhythm inside him, overwhelming him with pleasure when Eliot sucks him down. "Oh my god," he shouts, twitching forward into the heat of Eliot's mouth. "Can I touch your hair? I promise I won't pull." In answer, Eliot reaches for his hand and places it there, where Quentin's fingers sink into his curls.

Eliot's hand returns to his dick a second later, moving down to roll his balls in his palm while he takes him in further and continues to fuck his fingers inside him. Quentin can hardly breathe for the sensations; fantasizing over all this has nothing on the reality of Eliot so focused on getting him off. And when Quentin lifts his head to peek down, it looks like Eliot is fully clothed, which is _doing_ something for him.

" _Ahh_ , I— _fuck_ I'm really close, El," Quentin warns, petting over Eliot's hair. He breathes in sharply as Eliot's fingers push against his prostate intently, and within moments he's crying out, spilling into Eliot's mouth. He pushes down a sob, overwhelmed by the combination of pleasure and emotion. It all feels surreal for a moment, and he questions if all of this is real, that he went back in time with Eliot and then Eliot proceeded to give him the best orgasm of his _life_.

"You with me?" Eliot asks, stretching out next to him. Quentin lets his head fall to the side, and he takes in Eliot's smiling face, his swollen lips and tousled curls.

"That was amazing," Quentin says, rolling over to give him a proper kiss. He curls his tongue against Eliot's, eager now to get his mouth on his cock. "I need to sit up for a bit. D'you mind sitting at the edge of the bed, so I can suck you?"

Eliot laughs. "You know, I don't think I mind that at all." He kisses Quentin again, once, before moving into his new position. Quentin takes a pillow with him as he gets to his knees on the floor, settling between Eliot's legs.

"You can tell me if I do something you don't like, or y'know, something you do. I like the sound of your voice," he says, his face heating. "Also, um, you can tug on my hair a little. If you want." And then he moves in, licking over the head of Eliot's dick before he can say anything else embarrassing.

"Fuck, Q, you just hit me with a lot," Eliot says, his fingers sliding nicely into the strands of Quentin's hair. "You like my voice, huh? I can talk to you. Y'know, we're hitting a lot of my fantasies already and it's only the first time."

Quentin moans, a thrill shooting through him at the assurance that they're going to do this again. He stops teasing with his tongue and sinks his mouth over Eliot's cock, taking in as much as he comfortably can on his first attempt and starting up a rhythm with his hand and his mouth.

"Oh yeah, that's good," Eliot says, tugging on his hair just like Quentin likes. "I can't believe how enthusiastic you are. I got so hot just sucking you off, fingering you. Your ass is incredible. And now your mouth, _damn_. You might actually kill me. Death by amazing blowjob."

Quentin preens at the praise, doubling his efforts and trying to work more of Eliot's length into his mouth. It'll definitely take practice, but if they keep at this, Quentin wants to figure out how to deepthroat. He'll never forget how it felt when he was that deep inside someone's mouth, and he _needs_ to know what kind of sounds Eliot would make if he pulled it off.

Eliot moans, his grip in Quentin's hair getting more intense. There are more pauses for breath when he speaks again. "And this was one of _your_ top five? God, I'm so lucky." He breathes in sharply. " _Fuck_. Yeah, keep doing that. I can't wait to— _ahh_ —take you out properly and tell everyone you're my boyfriend."

The words take a second to process in his mind, but then Quentin is pulling off, stroking Eliot's dick absently as he looks up at him, asking, "Oh my god, are you serious?"

"Oh _fuck_." Eliot whines loudly, his eyes squeezing closed as he starts to come, shooting over Quentin's face before—

" _Shit_ , sorry," Quentin says, stroking him more firmly, getting his mouth back over his dick to suck him through the rest of his orgasm.

Quentin's face is flaming by the time Eliot pulls on his hair again, urging him off. He's all geared up to apologize again, but before he can get the words out, Eliot is hauling him up, pulling him into an intense kiss that makes his knees weak. He feels the mess disappear from his face and assumes Eliot must have done the cleaning spell.

"Unbelievable," Eliot murmurs, tilting his forehead against Quentin's. "And yes, I was serious."

Quentin's heart clenches. "For the record, I don't usually pull off right when my partner is about to come. I was just—"

"It's okay," Eliot says, chuckling. "You more than made up for it. Sorry to hit you with sudden declarations when you weren't expecting it."

"I was hoping, but yeah, not expecting." He stands up fully, his hands on Eliot's shoulders over his vest. "I'd like that, though. If you wanted to take me out and uh, tell everyone."

Eliot kisses him again, softer, sweeter. "Good."

Quentin lets his body melt into Eliot's. He can't help but think that no matter what happens from this point forward, this is the best timeline.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! <3


End file.
